


Changed

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coffee Shops, Epistolary, F/M, Pen Pals, Smutty Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29675484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: He knew parts of her better than she knew herself and Merlin! He knew all of her fantasies too. Easily half of their letters were masturbation fodder for the lonely nights when she stumbled home too late from work to do anything but heat up a frozen dinner in the microwave and fall into bed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Thorfinn Rowle
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32
Collections: Orgasms for Days: A Smut for Cece Collective





	Changed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cecemarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecemarty/gifts).



> Of course, I had to throw in our boy. 
> 
> All hail meditationsinemergencies and Ada_Lovelaced for betaing!

Hermione's heart pounded in her chest. She nearly turned where she stood and marched out of the door. It couldn’t be _him_. It had to be a coincidence. 

Yet there he sat, light streaming in from the cafe window highlighting Thorfinn Rowle’s toned arms, inked with swirls of colour, dark blond hair pulled up and back, leaving the scruff of his beard and sharp lines of his cheeks on prominent display. He held a book in one hand, his other idly stirring his coffee with a spoon that looked minuscule in the grip of thick fingers. 

She hadn’t even known about his release from Azkaban. The last time she set eyes upon him, thirteen years ago, she stole his memories and left him for dead in the middle of a muggle cafe.

Thirteen years, consistent therapy, and the knowledge she held from his Death Eater casefile allowed her to objectively admire his finer traits, namely the muscles straining against his dark shirt and the tattooed fingers she wanted pressing bruises into her thighs. 

She wasn’t certain she could move forward with the weekend they had planned, however, even if she could openly admit to her attraction. Hesitance kept her in the corner near the door where she could see him but he couldn’t see her. 

Knowing who he was, knowing he’d aimed his wand at her with intent to harm made Hermione pause, no matter the thirteen years of distance between them and everything she knew—and accepted—about _him_. 

By this point, their correspondence spanned two years. Using pseudonyms, they had connected by way of a silly owl-post order which promised to connect compatible individuals together based on a not-at-all-scientific questionnaire that Ginny made her complete and send off whilst drunk. The first letter surprised her, as had the following two years of near-daily correspondence. He knew parts of her better than she knew herself and _Merlin!_ He knew all of her fantasies too. Easily half of their letters were masturbation fodder for the lonely nights when she stumbled home too late from work to do anything but heat up a frozen dinner in the microwave and fall into bed. 

_I’d lay you out across your bed,_ he’d written _. Lush body on full display, ankles and wrists bound to the frame, so you’ve no choice but to let me look at you. I’d memorize your body before I ever touched you. Each curve, each dimple, each scar, each freckle would be committed to my mind, leaving you writhing and waiting for my touch. I’d start at your ankle, letting my fingers roam the delicate joint before skating up and over your calves to your parted thighs. I wouldn’t give you what you want, kitten. Absolutely not—not yet, at least. You know how I love the finer things in life, is it a stretch to think I’d want to savour you as well? Do you know how hard it would be to show restraint? To not devour you upon sight as I’ve spent the last year imaging how you’d look and feel in my arms? But I’d be patient, kitten._

_My hand would trace the curve of your stomach, the jut of your hips, the fullness of your breasts. My lips might follow—if you’re good. I’ve imagined the sounds you’ll make, but I wonder if I will be right. Will you bite back your moans or freely release your sounds of pleasure as I touch and tease you, working your body into a frenzy before I even think about your quim. Are you wet, kitten? I hope so._

_One day, when I have you tied to the bed, I’m going to spend hours between your legs, teasing you, edging you until you don't know up from down. But that first time? I might tease for a while but I know my impatience will win out. I’ll untie you and part your perfect thighs so I can swipe my cock through your folds. I can only imagine how that first pass will feel, warm and wet and perfect, simply because it’s you._

_But I won’t stop there, kitten. Oh no. I want to feel your nails dig into my arms, your arms wrapped around my neck, your hands desperately seeking a hold as I push into you for the first time. I’ll stretch you wide and meet your eyes when we’re finally joined._

_Can you imagine that, kitten? Tell me what happens next before you drift off to sleep. Your owls are a bright spot in my dreary days. I hope we can find a weekend to get away soon. Somedays, it’s hard enough to convince myself that you’re real and that you can look past the mistakes I’ve made in this terrible world to see me for who I am._

Hermione stood in the far corner of the coffee shop, pulling countless words from their correspondence over the past two years to the front of her mind, reminding herself of exactly whom she was meeting. 

Convicted Death Eater was only one minuscule facet of the man with whom she made plans to meet, and while he hadn’t disclosed his past indiscretions fully, she was well aware he’d been to prison and had been working hard to make up for his past misdeeds. It had been years since she’d cracked his casefile but she knew the evidence was there—charity donations, community service throughout the United Kingdom, mandatory mind-healing. 

She _knew_ he was a changed man. 

Gathering her courage around her like a warm blanket, Hermione stepped out of the shadows and waited in line with the rest of the patrons, stealing glances occasionally toward the man near the window. He didn’t appear impatient, didn’t appear nervous that she was slightly late to their meeting. His face remained relaxed as he turned the pages in his book and sipped his coffee. 

After placing her order and taking her coffee in hand, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and deliberately steered her feet towards his table. 

Trembling fingers curled around the back of the empty chair across from him and a nervous smile tugged at her lips. “Is this seat taken?” 

His dark blue gaze lifted from the book, meeting her eyes for the first time in nearly thirteen years. But this was no passing glance with wands drawn in the heat of battle, no. This gaze held significance—recognition. 

“Hello, kitten.” 


End file.
